


One Week

by sptmbrwind



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sptmbrwind/pseuds/sptmbrwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kowalski realizes something is missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Week

I woke up early on Tuesday, and stayed in bed watching Fraser sleep. When the sunlight started to show through the blinds, I snuck out of bed and called Welsh. He told me to take some time off, to recover. Then I crawled back into bed, wrapped my arms around Fraser, and kissed his forehead. And then I went back to sleep.

Huey woke me up twice that day, once alone and once with Dewey. Frannie stopped by on Wednesday, with meatballs. Each time, Fraser was sleeping, so I talked quietly with them in the kitchen, ate the food, thanked them for stopping by.

By Thursday, Fraser was out of bed, propped up on the couch. One foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table, looking bored by the TV as I checked his bandages. He looked good, healthy, even with the ugly red scrapes on his face. He caught me looking and smiled.

Friday, Welsh came by and took us to the doctor. Fraser was walking pretty good on the crutches, and he went straight in while I sat and flipped through an outdated gardening magazine. After a few minutes, the doctor came out and asked me to go and have a talk with her. I glanced at Welsh, who quietly took my magazine and motioned me on. So I went. Fraser must've been in the bathroom - the small office was empty. I sat down on the couch, the doctor took a chair. And we talked. She asked me about the explosion, about Fraser. She prescribed sleeping pills.

Saturday passed in a blur. Fraser slept much of the time, and visitors were around off and on through the day. Someone slept on my couch that night. Possibly Dewey.

Sunday morning, Fraser woke up screaming from a nightmare. I think Dewey pissed himself on the couch.

Monday morning, Thatcher came by, looking moody. She spoke quietly and left quickly, after handing me a package that she said she'd forgotten to give me at the service. I let her out and leaned against the wall, opening the paper bag with shaky hands. Inside was Fraser's wallet and singed clothing that he'd been wearing at the hospital. My knees buckled as I pulled them out, and I slid down the wall, sitting hard.

I forgot he died that day.

**End**


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